


Speaking in Tongues

by sweettasteofbitter



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Nonbinary Character, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 21:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6167395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweettasteofbitter/pseuds/sweettasteofbitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josephine's strongest weapon is words, yet she often finds herself at a loss when she tries to describe herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speaking in Tongues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withcoffeespoons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withcoffeespoons/gifts).



> The concept of Josephine versus language is something I enjoy writing immensely, especially if I get to put her in situations where she gets frustrated over not finding the right words, and I felt the idea of nb Josephine was very fitting for this trope.

Ask anyone who has anything to do with the Inquisition and you'll find out that Josephine Montilyet's work is invaluable, if often little understood by those who prefer to take the more direct, brash approach to problems. Those that would rather put a blade through a heart to solve an issue wonder how she can be so successful even though she spends her days taking down her opponents – if they can be called such – unarmed.

They are wrong about this, however, for Josephine is armed with words, a bright smile, and a wit that can be as sharp as a blade; a quick, clever tongue and her talent to exploit leverage are her weapons of choice, and she uses them to wield guilt as proficiently as the best of the Inquisition's soldiers wield their swords.

Words are her trade. Josephine takes pride in her ability to pacify people, stacking soothing phrases to dam a flow of tears, and uses the exact same tool to pull nobles out of their comfort zone, breaking down their walls until none of their carefully built-up protection remains standing. Words, she knows.

That is, when they are applied to others. When it comes to describing herself, the proper language often eludes her.

It's true that she's the Ambassador of the Inquisition – that is what she is, who she is. This title she can carry without uncertainty, signing her correspondence with urgent precision to add more weight to the body of text she has just put on paper. _Cordially, Ambassador Montilyet._

But every time someone adds their own incorrect interpretation of her person to that title and approaches her with a measured _"Excuse me, Lady Ambassador?",_ or refers to her as "my Lady" in tones ranging from polite to harsh, there is the slightest sliver of confused discomfort, like a snapped off branch forcefully stuck into the cogwheels of her mind.

 _Lady_.

The title bestowed upon her at birth feels wrong, as though she is being accused of a crime she didn't commit by means of a prodding, insistent finger against her breastbone. Despite employing the grace and wearing the fashion usually associated with ladies, the title itself is an ill fit, a coat that never quite suited her, all but too snug around her chest on good days, threatening to suffocate her on the bad. (There aren't that many bad days, she figures she has as many as the average person.)

It is not completely surprising that people would mistake her for a woman. It is not a matter of ill-will, it is merely ignorance; apart from the Dalish and perhaps the Qunari (the books are inconsistent about this), Thedosians simply do not know of the existence of people like her. In fact, Josephine herself was unaware that this category existed until her twentieth year; after all, hadn't both the Chant and her education always taught her that there were men and women, and that is all she could choose from? And she was most definitely not a man, so she had taken her womanhood for granted without ever truly enjoying it.

In all fairness, it was luck that brought Josephine the discovery, and so she places very little blame on the people that get her titles wrong. She herself stumbled upon the text passage – the very one that ignited her fascination and ultimately rearranged her entire identity – by accident.

Of course, to find out she had been lied to all her life left her feeling bereft, yet oddly enough there was a stronger feeling present as well: the revelation had made her brim with a new hope. Engrossed in the subject as she quickly became, something started boiling deep down as well, allowing a profoundly hidden truth to seep slowly through until finally, something _clicked_.

_This is me. This is who I am._

It was a relief, to finally know. To _understand_ why she had always been lacking some form of completion…but as soon as certainty hit her, doubt started creeping in as well.

She was alone, had no one to talk to, no one to confide in. Even if she tried, how could she even start explaining all this? It had taken her a considerable number of months to understand, and trying to express how she felt would require more than a concise description. Sharing this finding with anyone else simply wasn't an option. Not yet.

Even if she did make the choice to confide in just one person, it would not be enough. What about her family? Would they be disappointed to find out that their oldest child preferred not to carry any titles other than "Ambassador", or the one she would acquire if she became the Head of House Montilyet?

Still, she figured her family, her large, loving family, was her safest bet, and language had always been what she excelled at.

But as easily as the words usually came to her, so hard it was for her, with tears in her eyes, to form the sentences in her head, let alone transcribing them onto paper. She finished half a dozen of drafts, but none were good enough; the language of her homeland didn't allow her to describe how she felt.

Her own words were not going to be sufficient, and so she decided to rely on those written by others. She copied the chapters from the library books she had read by hand; it was tedious work, but she didn't trust anyone else to do it for her. She attached these pages to her letter, knowing that although the words weren't her own, it was the best she could do.

As soon as the letter was sent from the Embassy, she thought she would burst – never had she been filled with so much nervous anxiety in her life. Her work kept her busy and her mind occupied, but every moment on her own was spent worrying, her nights spent restlessly turning over and over.

After three very stretched-out weeks, the answer came, and it boiled down to _it is all right, you are our child and a child of the Maker, and we love you no matter what._ Despite years of written habit, they did not call her a girl once, and Josephine cried with relief. Her family she no longer worried about.

But this left - and continues to leave - too many others who do not know. Who mistakenly believe that the name of Josephine Cherette Montilyet can indeed be preceded by the title of Lady, and who call her such without any malicious intent, unaware of the way she aches when they do.

Every single time it happens, the urge rises within her to correct the mistaken souls, even though she has no idea where to begin. There are barely any terms that befit her category in the King's Tongue or in any of the other languages she speaks confidently, and thus she does not have the words to properly express herself. At times, she gets the impression she is standing on an island occupied by a people that communicates in a language that is completely foreign to her. It is a confusing existence, and the complexity of it leaves her reluctant to share this part of her with other people.

Josephine isn't ashamed, just careful. How do you explain something so personal to someone if they are completely unaware that this is something that exists, while all you want to do is to try getting away unscathed, without blowing away the very foundations of your reputation? It is, and continues to be, her biggest dilemma yet.

And so she endures.

She bears it for however long she can, frustration mounting frustration until she can't take it anymore and ends up screaming into her pillow at night. She no longer tries to shed tears over this - there is no use, she gains nothing by crying, for with every tear that wets her cheek she creeps further back into secrecy.

She is reluctant, even, to talk to Leliana about this. Leliana _knows_ , but to say she understands is a big word. She refers to Josephine as "the Ambassador" in formal settings, which might strike others as impersonal due to their known friendship. If anything, it adds to the mysterious persona Leliana tries – and succeeds – to hold up. Lately Josephine has been wondering if Leliana treats her the way she does for her own gain, rather than making Josephine feel at ease.

But no, of course not, the thought is as ridiculous as it is unfair towards Leliana, who is capable of being caring and compassionate, even though she would admit it as reluctantly to others as she would to herself. It is Josephine's own fear of the unknown that conjures these thoughts - she has to acknowledge that her brain lies to her sometimes, and makes her sound like extremely insolent even though she does not support thoughts of such malignant gravity.

Without the veneer of professionalism, in more private conversations, Leliana calls her Josie. It appears to be a caring diminutive shared between friends, but in truth it is the only tangible trace of a tumultuous time spent together in a past long gone. It is a time that has filled Josephine with memories of running away and soft, flowing gowns, while the moons rose brightly above the blue-white shapes of Val Royeaux – memories of leaning in and learning and fingers against lips. And being called Josie, always Josie.

("You are a beautiful woman, Josie," Leliana told her once, before she knew.

"No," Josephine whispered, wishing Leliana's hands out of her hair, "I'm really not.")

But now her friend – friend, no longer lover, as they agreed it could not last – has grown more reclusive, seeking solace in the words of the Maker and praying with invisible blood stains on her hands, Josephine wonders if things could have been different, if she could have done something, _anything_ , to change the course Leliana took. Sometimes she regrets the times she couldn't stand it, the times she swatted Leliana's hands from her body before getting up from the bed and masking her discomfort by lighting the candles to keep her restless limbs busy. Would it have helped if she hadn't done any of that? Unlikely.

Josephine isn't blind to see that the present is as it is, and time is a river through which they are forever wading forward. She will do her utmost best, then, to make sure that the future is one she wants to imagine herself in, and on her shoulders rests the pressure to prevent thousands of people from drowning.

Traces of the past yet linger, though, and at times she is pulled back into a maelstrom of memories. She indulges, but never gets the chance to do this for too long, because her saccharine daydreams are always rudely interrupted by a reality that has a much more bitter aftertaste.

This time it is no different, as someone cautiously approaches her from behind and raises their voice.

"Excuse me, Lady Ambassador?"

There it is, that white flash of hot across her neck, that quiet uneasiness, not entirely gone when she breathes in and blinks. She chooses to ignore Leliana at the edge of her field of vision, but Josephine can intuitively feel the squinting eyes upon her figure even from a distance. Oh, Leliana must've seen the way she tensed up just now, and the Spymaster is good enough at lip reading that she knows what has been said to her.

Josephine turns around and smiles.

"Yes?" she says, ready to play the part that is required of her, her voice polite as always.

She falls into conversation easily, as she was always meant to do, and her inner conflict stagnates for a while, blurring into the background. She handles her conversational partner, a dwarven craftsman who has been overseeing some of the reconstruction labors. When the dwarf leaves, he is only partially satisfied with the answer he has received, but Josephine is well aware that what she has provided him with is the only solution that benefits as many people as possible.

She scribbles down a quick line in her notes, already moving on to the next task that lays ahead; losing herself in her work seems to be the more attractive solution these days. While her mind is occupied such, she feels at ease – that is, until she looks up and notices Leliana striding towards her.

Without touching her or saying a word, Leliana ushers her into an isolated spot where no one can hear them. The expression on her face would fool others into thinking the two of them are about to have an encounter as colleagues, but Josephine knows better than that.

"Josie," Leliana says without prelude, "don't you think it would be better if people knew?"

"What? You mean-?" Josephine's eyes widen in alarm. "No, absolutely not! How would I even go about- No. Forget it."

"You don't need to let everyone know at once. Start with people you trust with this information, people you think might understand, as few as they may be. Do what you excel at - make them reveal something about themselves before offering this information as a generous gesture in return. Think about it, yes?"

"Leliana," Josephine says insistently, her cheeks growing warm. "You don't understand. My personal struggles are not a negotiation, and your suggestion is beyond audacious. You cannot ask that of me!"

Leliana regards Josephine's expression of shock for a moment.

"No," she sighs in defeat, much to Josephine's surprise. "You are right, and it was wrong of me to suggest. But you are hurting, evidently, and I don't like the sight of it."

"I am not _hurting_. It's merely…inconvenient."

"Is that so? Is that the whole truth?" Leliana undoubtedly knows the answer to this question already.

The reluctance to speak about this still hasn't left Josephine, but she also knows that if she wishes to lighten the invisible weight on her chest, then, well, this is her chance. She worries her bottom lip with her teeth and plucks an invisible piece of dust off her impeccable sleeve.

"Perhaps not, but I hope you understand that this is difficult, and that I would gain nothing by rushing this process; this is something I need to go through myself, at my own pace," she says, and then, at last, deciding to confide in her friend: "Except I’m not sure where to start. I cannot always find the right words, and I feel so…so _lost_ without them."

"Hmm, I see," is all Leliana says, and it is not the answer Josephine had been hoping for – in fact, it isn't really an answer at all.

A shadow creeps over Leliana's face, and Josephine doesn't appreciate the sight, for she knows Leliana is concocting a plan in that brain of hers. (Josephine isn't surprised; after all, Leliana's plan A was refused by the executive body and so she has to come up with something different quite quickly.)

When Leliana focuses on Josephine again her eyes are calm, if not a little scheming; she tilts her head, gauging, measuring, in silence.

"You might want to take up on Iron Bull's offer to have a drink with you," Leliana says eventually.

"Excuse me? What?" Josephine is genuinely taken aback by this sudden change of topic. She has no idea where it comes from, or what the underlying idea is, for there has to be one. "How do you even know about that?"

"Because he tried to tempt me with a similar proposition, and then when I refused, he admitted that you had not accepted his offer either. I did not find out on my own, if that is your concern."

"All right, but I still don't see how this is relevant at all."

"Don't the Chargers tend to be around when he is?" Leliana says, and the playfulness in her voice rubs Josephine the wrong way; she did not agree to hand over some of her insecurities to her friend only for them to be treated as a game.

"Leliana," Josephine sighs, her patience growing more and more limited. "Please elaborate?"

"The Dalish archer," Leliana smiles knowingly, hinting at the fact that the archer in question is not an archer at all. "Perhaps it would help you if you spoke to her. If you can gain her trust and peel away the numerous layers of sarcasm she shrouds herself in, she can be a very kind person, and ultimately, if I'm not mistaken…you might find a kindred."

Josephine can feel some of her anxiety slipping off her chest and shattering on the floor. If she isn't the only person who feels this way, then surely there is a way forward? And yes, she has read about the Dalish and their interpretation of these matters, but she had always assumed it was considered poor behavior to approach someone of Dalish origin about this. She only hopes that Leliana hasn't spoken beyond her permission.

Leliana leans forward and places her hand on Josephine's forearm. It is the slightest of touches, but it means the world to Josephine.

"This is the information I'm giving you, and whatever you choose to do with it is up to you. Regardless of your choice, I believe in you," Leliana smiles once again, and a hidden fondness reveals itself underneath her usually so guarded expression. For the most fleeting of moments Josephine is back in Val Royeaux, standing underneath the starry dome of the sky with giggles in her ears and hands carding through her hair.

"You're a beautiful person, Josie," Leliana says.

"Yes," Josephine says, confidence growing, and there is no hesitation when she offers her smile in return, "I like to think I am."


End file.
